Exile's Path
by Bloodhawk 248
Summary: Noxus has left Riven behind, but an Exile never forgets. Her journey to reforge Noxus started the moment she shattered her sword, and this is how it plays out. WIP
1. Chapter 1

So, first League of Legends fanfic! I didn't intend to end up writing for this fandom, but the game became too addicting and I wanted to explore characters and backstories.

The summoning, as always, was incredibly disturbing in a way no experience she'd ever had could replicate. As her body ached and complained, light washed over her, bathing her in eerie radiance until she could see no more. Her mind blanked -

And then Riven stood upon a stone platform, the soft blue light of runes glowing beneath her feet. That blue light was everywhere; from the massive crystalline form of the nexus to the ominously-carved turrets that stood sentinel over it.

"_Can you hear me, Exile?"_

The voice was female, and quiet; even in the confines of her mind Riven had to struggle to hear her.

_Barely. And don't call me that._

"_My apologies...Riven." _This time it was quite audible...thought-able...whatever. _"Better?"_

_Yes. _

She kept the conversation short; besides the simple efficiency of the action, she disliked talking to summoners. The linking spell kept their minds distinct, true, and only allowed intentional communication, but it felt too much like the summoners could hear every stray thought. Riven was too used to the solitude of her own mind to be wholly comfortable with sharing it

"_Very well_. _As you know, this is a practice match between the champions of Freljord and Ionia. Queen Ashe has requested that we summoners limit our influence so that the members of her team can find a natural balance between them. As such we will not be directing your actions, and our only input will be the utilization of spells, should you find them necessary."_

That seemed just fine to Riven.

_Understood._

"_I will be monitoring your thoughts; only ask if you require the use of my spells. Good luck, Riven."_

The summoner's voice faded away, just as the dulcet tones of the Fields' announcer declared that minions had spawned. The rest of her team was already splitting off; she caught a glimpse of Tryndamere's broad back as he vanished into the jungle. The Cryophoenix's vast wings propelled her along the middle lane; Nunu and Ashe were already out of sight.

It was time to start, then. Riven hefted the broken remains of her sword and jogged up towards blue team's top turret, easily keeping pace with the minions. The journey was intentionally designed to be long, giving her time to consider her strategy.

This practice match had been in the planning stages for quite a long time, both Freljordian and Ionian eager to see what strength the other side could muster. Her presence on Ashe's team was both an irregularity and an accident; originally the team composition had called for Volibear to handle the jungle role. Something had come up: Riven was hazy on the details, but it had something to do with the Winter's Wrath and her enmity towards Ashe At any rate, the Ursine chief had gracefully withdrawn from the match, causing the summoners to search for a replacement. Their equivalent of picking names out of a hat had yielded hers, and now she was here.

The blue turret loomed before her, the statue of the vaguely boar-like creature intimidating in its sheer size. She stopped within its radius and watched as the minions continued their mindless march, plowing straight into the identical line of purple minions that opposed them. The two sides of mannequins hacked at each other brutally and without finesse. Bits of the magical essence that composed them flaked off as they fought.

Riven waited a beat, then dashed forward as one minion wavered. The jagged remains of her old runeblade swept down like an executioner's guillotine. What passed for the minion's head bounced away as the rest of it disappeared, purpose fulfilled.

The Exile set to farming in earnest, butchering the purple minions as they flailed wildly at her own. The chink of gold echoed in her ears, a sound that had no physical origin. It was unnatural, just like everything else on the Rift.

She checked in with the other members of her team via the summoner-maintained link - Tryndamere had just killed the golem, Anivia was holding off a frustrated Ahri with some ease - when a note sounded, high and clear through even the confused minion melee. It continued, rising in pitch and loudness, as Irelia Lito emerged from behind the purple turret at a dead sprint and dove towards her.

Riven had never fought the famous guard captain; her legendary stand at the Placidum had occurred after Riven's break with Noxus. What she knew about the warrior charging at her was only the common scuttlebutt: that the Will of the Blades was some kind of witch, wielding her weapon without requiring such mundane tools as her hands, and that she was possessed of a strong hatred for all things Noxian.

As eyes the color of frozen emeralds bored into her soul, Riven could believe it.

Their swords collided with a loud clang; the Ionian's forward momentum checked by Riven's greater strength and mass. The Exile ducked a swing of that tremendous blade and tried a cross-cut, the jagged edge of her sword slicing so quickly through the air it hissed. Her opponent's hand twitched; the floating blade hurled itself downwards to knock Riven's weapon aside. The Exile was forced to retreat as Irelia pushed forward, always pressing her advantage. She wielded her great blade more like a spear now, thrusting it point-forward so that Riven had to swing frantically just to keep from getting gored.

Something needed to change; the Will of the Blades was fast, and if Riven didn't change the combat the announcer would be calling first blood.

Riven braced herself, calling to the runes in her blade. They came alive, flaring with cold green light. She let Irelia drive her back, letting her breath out in loud pants as she gave ground. Suddenly, she planted her feet and rallied, shouting a wordless battle cry. No longer was she on the defensive; her blade danced and weaved, bleeding trails of emerald light as it met Irelia's strange sword head-on. This time her guard was strong; she put every scrap of strength remaining into her blows, turning aside the Ionian's own attacks and even placing her on the defensive when one particularly strong swing almost gouged out an eye.

Those same eyes narrowed, orbs of emerald raging with a fury denied. The attacks came faster and faster, abandoning the vaunted Ionian grace and delicacy for pure, unsophisticated power. As a Noxian, Riven could appreciate that.

The next swing was faster than any of its predecessors, whatever Ionian magic fueling its flight augmented by human frustration. It should have been easy to block, quick though it was, but as Riven brought her blade up to guard, her grip slipped. Pain flared, hot and sharp, as one of the blade's prongs slashed through her upper arm. Blood spurted, shockingly red in the dull ambience of the Rift.

Irelia shouted in triumph and pounced, leaping as gracefully as a Noxian sabercat. Riven backpedaled frantically, but the Ionian closed with tremendous speed. Her weapon split - was it really one blade or many? - into four parts, whirling viciously like a Piltoverian buzzsaw. She was close enough for Riven to see the light of victory in her eye -

A roar echoed through the Rift as Tryndamere burst from the river's edge, blade high above his head as he bore down on the now-vulnerable Ionian.

Riven allowed herself a small smirk as she saw panic flare in those green eyes. Irelia turned to flee, arms outstretched as if to Bladesurge away. It never happened; the Barbarian King slammed into her with all the force of a charging horse, throwing her clear off the ground and into a nearby bush. Riven had to give her opponent credit, she leaped to her feet quickly, fast enough to vault away from a violent swing that would have cut her head off. The barbarian cursed, turning ponderously to follow, and Riven saw her chance.

She dashed forward, trailing emerald light in her wake, and her hand closed around Irelia's forearm. The Ionian pivoted, eyes wild with rage, but before she could lash out, Riven screamed in her face.

Her enemy reeled, dazed and disoriented. The blades she held in her telekinetic grasp reacted likewise, slashing wildly at the air and any minions unfortunate enough to be around. Riven released her opponent, gripped the broken blade with both hands, and struck.

The captain of the guard tumbled to the floor like a heavy sack of potatoes, and the announcer's triumphant declaration of "First Blood!" echoed throughout the Rift.

Riven paused to lean heavily on her knees, panting hard. That had been close, far too close for her liking. It was well that Tryndamere had come when he did; any longer and she might have been in trouble.

"Not bad, Noxian." The barbarian himself was leaning on his sword, looking at her with something that might have been approval. "You're stronger than you look."

Maybe it was the giddiness of nearly dying, or the euphoria at defeating a formidable opponent, but the rush of victory loosened Riven's tongue. She smirked at her teammate, swinging her blade up in her right hand. "My right arm is a lot stronger than my left."

Tryndamere let out a guffaw that shook the nearby bushes. He shouldered his sword and vanished back into the jungle without a word, but the sound of his mirth lingered in the brush.

A smile curved up the edge of Riven's mouth as she returned to farming the enemy minions.

Twenty minutes later, that smile was long gone, replaced by a pained grimace as she limped past one of her side's super minions, bloodstained hand clutching her side.

"Heads up, sword girl!"

Nunu's shout accompanied a shimmering orb of light as it zoomed past her ear, barely missing her. Her reactionary glance fell on Ahri, who was smiling cheerfully as she hurled another bolt of magic. Riven took it on her sword and dashed towards her, side-pain forgotten.

"Mm…" the kitsune purred, casually dodging the first overhand swing. "What a big...sword you've got there."

Flirting? That was new. Riven struck again, trying this time for a short thrust. The fox slipped aside that one too; as she did so pink light formed around her palm. With a grin and a wink, Ahri blew a kiss at Riven, the light coalescing into a heart and flying at her.

_Shit- _

Then the charm struck her.

_What…?_

Heat bloomed in her chest, as well as certain...other regions. It was not a slow process either; her body suddenly felt far too hot, and even the relatively light jacket and pants she wore seemed too restricting. Riven shifted restlessly, friction dancing pleasantly across her skin.

The exigency of the battle vanished as the fox danced before her, lithe body moving so seductively. She wanted it, needed it writhing underneath her as the fox called out her name in pleasure. She took a step forward, her blade hanging loosely in her grip -

A cry of pain, clear as a church bell, slashed the air. Riven stumbled back, the lustful haze vanishing like mist. Ahri clutched her face, blood dripping from a long cut across one porcelain cheek. Frost crystals glinted among the crimson gash, dissolving in the warm heat of flowing blood.

The Frost Archer advanced into Riven's field of vision, firing a steady stream of arrows. Ahri snarled and threw out a hand. Three balls of blue flame sprang into being and hurled themselves at Ashe. Without a thought, the Exile dashed forward, forming her will around her. She slid in front of Ashe just in time, the spirit flames dissipating upon the shield of light she'd drawn around herself.

Ashe flashed her a grin, then fired once more. The arrow quadrupled in size as it sliced through the air, shedding bits of ice along its path. Ahri had just enough time to blink before the arrow detonated in a shower of crystals, coating her with rapidly-hardening frost. Another shriek of outrage erupted from the archer's victim, partially muffled by the shroud of ice.

That wasn't an opportunity to waste: Riven covered the distance in a single leap, flipping through the air. Emerald light flared around her blade as she gathered momentum, before gravity brought wielder and weapon down upon the trapped mage in a blaze of green light.

The kitsune's corpse disappeared, leaving trails of ice still creeping across the stone floor.

"That was awesome!" Nunu cheered, as Willump lumbered over, blood and glass coating the yeti's massive paws. Master Yi's goggles had apparently fared just as badly as the rest of him.

"We're not done yet, Nunu," the Freljord queen chastised her subject. She gestured with one hand at the purple nexus, glowing gently as its last two towers continued to rain down bolts of energy upon the relentless march of blue minions. "We still need to -"

A single note sounded, the high and clear clash of metal on metal. It was the only warning Riven had.

Ashe's chest suddenly exploded outward in a shower of blood, a very familiar blade emerging from her body. The force of the impact lifted the Frost Archer off her feet, limbs spasming helplessly. Blue eyes flashed with shock and pain, and then the Freljord monarch's body fell to the ground, crimson vitae leaving in a steady gush.

The Will of the Blades stood there, red armor now made even redder with the addition of Avarosan blood. Riven caught a flash of triumph in the Ionian captain's eyes, even as Willump roared in rage and launched himself at the woman half his size.

Massive fists slammed down onto the unyielding stone floor, narrowly missing their target. Irelia came out of a fluid sideways roll and lashed out with her blades. They chimed almost melodically and Willump reeled back, stunned. From his perch atop the yeti's shoulders, Nunu shouted and hurled a ball of ice. The frozen comet hurtled through the air, but again Irelia slipped aside, a fierce grin on her face. Her blade split into its four sections, spinning like one of Kennen's shurikens, and slashed into Willump's arms, drawing a rumble of pain.

Riven charged forward before Irelia could attack again. Her broken blade came down on the Ionian's head, only to meet solid steel as one of the four blades deflected the strike. Irelia turned, emerald eyes flaring vindictively, and with a single gesture one of her blades buried itself in Riven's thigh. It went in smoothly, missing bone, and Riven gasped in pain as steel slid easily through her leg, severing muscle and tendon and sending fire up through the nerves of her leg.

Another blade slashed down for her neck; only a quick wrist movement parried the deadly strike. The Will of the Blades leaped upward into a forward kick, and her boot smashed squarely into Riven's cheekbone. The exile flailed instinctively with her sword, a clumsy motion easily dodged as Irelia vaulted backwards, blades hovering protectively around her. She landed in a crouch, eyeing Riven predatorily.

The Noxian staggered to her feet, clutching the now-open wound left by an Ionian blade. Sweat dripped from pale white bangs, running down into russet-red eyes as they tried desperately to anticipate her opponent's next move.

An angry howl told her Willump was back in the fight; Irelia's eyes flickered left and she rolled sideways to dodge the yeti's charge. Nunu hurled another snowball as the Will of Blades moved, and this one struck home, coating the Ionian's armor with ice and turning a graceful roll into a clumsy tumble as she tried to recover her feet.

Both combatants charged, blood in their eyes. Willump raised both fists to pound the slender Ionian captain to red mush...and then toppled over as four tiny red blades buried themselves in his chest. The yeti fell on his back, yells of protest barely audible as his passenger struggled to free himself.

Irelia turned back to Riven, the smirk of triumph reappearing once more. The Will of Blades gestured once, a cocky motion with the fingers of her right hand. Her blades rotated around her, threatening and ominous.

Riven weighed her options. She wasn't healing fast enough to fight at full capacity, whereas Irelia was fresh from killing Ashe. In a prolonged fight, the guard captain would dispatch her. Retreat wasn't an option either, not with her bad leg. There was really only one option open to her.

As a line of minions scurried past her, Riven forced her battered body into a sprint. Irelia's smirk widened, and she surged forward to meet her, blades melded together once more. The ancient weapon, forged with secrets known only to Ionian armorers, speared straight through Riven's body with a wet slurp. Irelia's momentum carried her straight forward into her opponent, bringing their faces close enough to kiss.

Green eyes stared into red victoriously, and then Riven made her move.

Her left arm looped around Irelia's back, crushing her in a tight parody of an embrace. Her right arm came up, the broken remnants of her sword bursting into life one last time. Runes blazed with light as the sword _reformed_, power molding itself to replace the lost edges. A deft flick of her wrist spun the blade so that it pointed downward, perpendicular to the ground.

The entire time, the Exile maintained eye contact. Irelia's eyes were incredibly expressive; they raged with fear and hatred as she struggled to escape, but Riven was three inches taller and quite a few pounds heavier and the guard captain remained where she was.

The blade came down, piercing both bodies. Green light blazed, wiping out Riven's vision.

And then, nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi everyone! Here's the next chapter. I'm still feeling out characterization, and this is a fairly new setup for me. This chapter is a prime candidate for editing, if I can find the time to smooth over dialogue and plot progression. At any rate, the second half of the fic is heavily influenced by the leagueoffics series, which is awesome and if you don't read it you should. It's on tumblr. I found it while trawling through thegadgetfish's tumblr looking for league fic, and had an aneurysm when I realized he/she'd recced my fic (gadgetfish, if you're still reading this, thank you so much for that!).

Regarding the pairing, it is indeed what the filter implies. It's a bit of a slow burn, though, and you might see other pairings/characters appear before _They need a Nerf_ gets together. There's a core cast that I intend to feature, which in addition to Riven and Irelia will feature a few other league champions. The first one to show up will be everyone's favorite moon-worshipping sword-swinger, so there's that to look forward to. I know I am. Also, this fic will occasionally dip into Summoner's rift matches, but there's a plot that extends beyond the League so there'll be just as much time outside the Fields of Justice as within them.

At any rate, on with the show! Reviews are welcome, the more critical the better!

* * *

"Shouldn't she be waking up? The match is over."

"Killing Ionians is exhausting. Mayhap she's taking a nap."

"Silence, both of you. She's awake."

Riven opened her eyes. The first thing she noticed was that she was still in the chair the summoners used to bring champions to the Rift. It was designed to be quite comfortable; the chair was well-padded with furs, probably from the Plague Jungles.

The second thing she noticed was that all four of her teammates stood - or in Anivia's and Nunu's cases perched - around her chair.

"Riven," Ashe greeted her warmly, concern written across her face. "You're well?"

"I'm fine, thank you." The Exile stood, pushing herself off her chair. "Is the match over?"

"We won!" Nunu cheered from Willump's back. "We kicked their asses-"

"Language!" Ashe reprimanded, a stern look on her face. Nunu wilted.

"Sorry." Then his excitement returned, his narrative continuing. "Willump and I got Master Yi, and that little purple yordle guy! We almost got Irelia too," Here he fixed a not-very-intimidating glare on Riven, "but then you came blundering in!"

The Exile spared him a wan smile; it was hard to really be mad at Nunu. "Sorry."

The youngest Freljordian champion waved it off. "It's ok, you were so awesome! She was like, _zwing, _and you were like _whoosh_-"

"She was the last," Tryndamere supplied gruffly, as Nunu continued his reenactment. "Wasn't too hard to take their nexus, once she was dead." He examined Riven with a practiced eye. "You do good work, Noxian."

"I did end up with her sword in my gut," Riven felt obliged to point out. That seemed important.

"Exactly! The only good Noxian is a dead Noxian!" Tryndamere burst out into laughter.

"Tryndamere!" Ashe looked positively scandalized. "In no possible conversation is that appropriate-"

"It's fine, Queen Ashe." Riven interrupted. "I'm well aware of how Noxus is perceived by the rest of Valoran. We...don't make many friends."

"And the ones you do are bald crazy scientists, right?" Tryndamere asked. Riven felt her smile tighten.

"Unfortunately."

"Enough, Tryndamere." Ashe placed a hand on his arm. "Riven is no longer affiliated with Noxus, and she was our teammate today."

Tryndamere looked genuinely confused. "What did I say?"

The air grew colder, the temperature dropping quickly. All turned all eyes to Anivia, as the Cryophoenix spread her wings.

"If that is all, I would like to depart. This room is too small for my tastes." The giant blue bird fixed crimson eyes on her queen.

"Of course. It's about time we pay our respects to the Ionians."

Riven felt her stomach drop. _This _was not going to be awkward at all. Still, she fell in line with the rest of her team as they filed out of the summoning chamber, Anivia tucking her wings in and shuffling through the doorway. Somehow, despite Riven's expectations, the Cryophoenix managed both to fit and still look perfectly elegant despite basically waddling.

The corridor opened up into the main atrium; the summoners were already there, and the Ionian team was emerging from the opposite room. True to form, they were all immaculately dressed, with not a hair out of place. Only the dejected look on Kennen's face betrayed their defeat; Karma was talking to him softly, an encouraging hand on his shoulder. The other three Ionians stood tall; Yi's goggles hid most of his face, and Ahri was pouting quite notably, her tails rustling around her.

But Irelia…

The Will of the Blades' posture was perfect: straight-backed and feet spaced at shoulder-width. Her arms were folded, hands tucked into the inner curves of her elbows that turned an otherwise perfectly neutral stance into one that exuded subtle aggression. Emerald eyes locked on Riven, cold and focused. It was very much like staring into the eyes of a predatory animal; pure ferocity guided by a cold, cunning intellect that would outmaneuver you before tearing you apart.

Tryndamere and Nunu seemed oblivious, crossing the distance to offer handshakes and acknowledgements. If Anivia noticed, it failed to show upon her frozen countenance. Only Ashe seemed concerned, sapphire eyes flicking over to Riven before she joined her husband and comrades.

For her part, Riven didn't move. Noxians didn't back down, whether from outright hostility or veiled threats. What Irelia was doing was somewhere in between, and while the particulars of a response were a little hazy, Riven had no intention of giving an inch.

So she met her opponent's gaze calmly, her own body relaxed and open, yet coiled to burst into action if the Ionian made a move. Agonizing minutes passed; out of the corner of her eye Riven was aware of the summoners whispering to each other, casting furtive glances at them as if wondering when they would come to blows.

Finally, Irelia did move. Slowly, begrudgingly, she stepped forward and offered one hand.

"Good game, exile."

Riven took the proffered hand, and did her best not to recoil. The Ionian's skin was far colder than any human body should have been, colder even than Ashe. It was like grabbing an ice cube. Fortunately, Irelia released the grip after just long enough to still be polite, looking at her expectantly.

"You fought well, Captain Lito," Her reply was similarly curt. "I look forward to our future encounters."

Finely-sculpted brows narrowed, undoubtedly trying to figure out if Riven was mocking her. The Exile had to suppress a snort; it was quite obvious when a Noxian was mocking you. Her sincerity was genuine; the Will of Blades was a formidable opponent. Ionians touted grace and elegance, but Riven had never seen one who married those qualities with such indomitable strength and skill, such undeniable power -

The clatter of footsteps jarred her out of her brief reverie as Irelia stalked away, the post-game courtesies obviously concluded.

"That one doesn't like you," Tryndamere ambled up to her; behind him she saw the rest of the Ionian team fall in behind Irelia as her quick, almost angry stride took her out of the chamber.

"She has every right," Riven responded. "We poisoned her land, killed her people. From her point of view it must seem completely unjustified."

"But not from yours?"

The barbarian king was far more perceptive than she thought; obviously he was no dumb brute. From underneath his helmet keen blue eyes regarded her with the unblinking stare of a hawk.

This wasn't the first time she had to defend her philosophy, and it wouldn't be the last.

"Might makes right; strength is the only justification one ever needs." Tryndamere's eyes narrowed, but she kept talking. "It was our right to attack, and Ionia's right to defend itself. If they were strong, we would have been pushed out and learned that they were not to be trifled with. If they were not, we would assimilate them. Take what strength you find, discard the rest: that is the Noxian way."

Tryndamere's nostrils flared; undoubtedly he was remembering the Noxian incursion into his own homeland, but he kept his peace.

"At least, that is what I thought our way was. After Singed's bombardment, I'm not so sure."

"So the madman wiped out your battalion." Tryndamere's voice was level; again, not something she expected from someone Noxian intelligence labeled as a tempestuous hothead, unable to think rationally for more than a few minutes. "Did you lose heart and scurry away with your tail between your legs?"

Was he trying to provoke her? If so, it wouldn't work; she was still trying to find her way, why she had left Noxus. To this day she still didn't have the full picture. Noxus was wrong, it was true, but how, and what about it? Strength needed to be tested; were she in charge she would still have invaded Ionia, just without the use of Singed's noxious chemical weaponry.

Wouldn't she? How many lives had her unit ruined, rampaging through Ionian villages and rounding up farmers who'd never picked up a weapon before? Could she honestly say that because she could swing a sword, she could decide whether they lived or died?

Too many questions, and not enough answers. She'd need more time for those. But at least she had one for the man who stood before her.

"No." She met his gaze steadily. "My spirit is _not _broken. I will find the answers I need, and then Noxus will accept them, one way or the other."

"Well at least you have a goal," Tryndamere grunted. His tone said he was still unsatisfied, and Riven was fine with that. Her purposes were her own; she needed no one's approval for how she handled her life. She dismissed him with a glance and walked forward to join the other members of her team.

The rest of the pleasantries went quickly, Riven exchanging handshakes with Karma and Master Yi. Kennen's grip lasted for maybe two seconds before something caught his eye and he bounced away in excitement. Ahri, well…her tails seemed to be disregarding Riven's personal space, not-quite brushing her arms.

"Do you want to touch them?" the Kumiho offered slyly, slanted eyes smouldering. Riven stammered a polite refusal and backed away, flushing at the fox's chuckle.

"She does that with everyone." Ashe commented, appearing at Riven's shoulder. "I've lost count of the times she's complimented me on my curves."

Riven refrained from agreeing with the erstwhile fox-spirit; Ashe did have very nice curves. "Have you fought her often?"

Ashe shook her head. "Perhaps three times, but she's like clockwork; never fails."

A rather awkward silence fell between them as Riven tried to figure out what else to say. Ashe saved her the trouble by offering the Exile her own hand.

"Good afternoon, Riven. You fought well."

Riven shook the Freljordian Queen's hand and watched her leave with the summoners.

That was her only match scheduled for today; unless a champion needed to bow out she was done. She passed through the massive double doors, leaving the summoning chamber behind her.

The Institute of War had erected a truly massive complex to house the myriad employees and magical apparatuses the League required; it took almost twenty minutes of steady walking for Riven to reach the small set of rooms the summoners had issued her. A cramped living room, a kitchen, and a tiny bedroom with an even smaller restroom: it wasn't much, but it was the only place on Valoran she could call home. She reached out for the door with one hand, and it opened obligingly.

She'd locked the door before leaving.

Riven grabbed for the sword on her back, sliding it out of its sling. Something was wrong -

A shadow loomed behind the door. Without pause, a slim hand shot out and snagged Riven's wrist. The next thing she knew she was falling past the door as it closed shut. Quick as lightning, her hands were pinned and something pushed her, slamming her into the living room wall with tooth-rattling force. Fingers loosened their grasp, and her sword fell from her hand. The lights were off and the room pitch-black, but she could feel her assailant's hot breath gusting across her neck.

Riven slammed her head forward, feeling it connect with a satisfying crunch. The shadow before her reeled back, but still kept a firm grip on her wrists. There was room to work with now, though, and the Exile pistoned her knee upward. The shadow's breath came out in an explosion of air; its grip slackened. Riven broke the hold and lashed out once, twice, firing off punches that would have felled a man twice her size.

The shadow weaved, slipping aside from the first blow and beneath the second. It crashed into her again, a forward tackle that knocked her back against the wall. Riven's vision went white for a moment, and before she could react the cold steel of a knife was at her throat.

"Hello, traitor."

Their faces were so close, Riven felt the words as much as heard them. A flash of emerald broke the hazy darkness of her room, and the Exile knew at once who had assaulted her in her own room.

"Katarina." Riven didn't have to try hard to put the growl in her voice. "What are you doing here?"

The Sinister Blade smiled, pearly white teeth noticeable in the gloom. It looked more like a predator baring its fangs. "Oh, you know me. Checking up on worthless scum, making sure they don't bring more shame to Noxus than they already have."

Without warning, the assassin sank her teeth into Riven's neck. A cry escaped the Exile's lips involuntarily, threatening to turn into a moan when something wet and warm began massaging the bruised area. The knife pressed harder into Riven's jugular, almost breaking the skin. It was an exquisite sensation, dredging up memories the Exile would rather have left buried.

This was dangerous, dealing with Katarina always was. Just her smirk, her touch turned Riven's blood to smoke. Seduction might have been the younger Du Couteau's field of expertise, but her elder sister was no slouch at it.

Riven's fingers curled into Katarina's shoulders, whether to push her off or pull her close she didn't know. Further thought was forestalled as the assassin bit down harder; a moan escaped from the Exile's throat. A hand slid down the curve of her rear, the knife shifted to trace patterns down her stomach.

"Get...off me," Riven ground out.

Teeth released their hold on her neck as Katarina shot her a wicked smirk.

"It doesn't sound like you want me off."

Her anger surged, and Riven shoved her former friend off her. Her sword lay at her feet; a deft motion slipped her foot under the hilt and upwards, flinging the blade into her hand. She advanced on Katarina.

"Get out."

The Sinister Blade sheathed the knife and folded her arms, singularly unimpressed. Cold green eyes flicked to the broken sword, and then she sighed.

"You used to be so much greater, Riven." Disappointment colored the assassin's tone. "I remember the military's poster child, the girl who at sixteen outclassed most of the army's ten-year veterans. I remember a soldier who always got the job done, without hesitation and without weakness. I remember a woman who was _strong, _not some mewling quim who ran away from her country because of a little chemical bath."

Riven's blood boiled, her fists clenched. Anger was rising, burning away the lust. "A _bath?_ Is that what you think? You weren't there, Katarina! You didn't see what happened to us! Noxian soldiers, your own people! Most of us died to a chemical barrage our own side ordered! What honor is in that?! What _strength _can you find from killing your enemies with poison?!"

"Singed isn't my problem, and he wasn't yours either," There was no warmth in the Sinister Blade's voice, only judgment. "You survived, didn't you? You could have come back in honor, received like a conqueror. Instead you wallow in self-indulgent pity and whine about being betrayed."

She barely heard Katarina over the blood thundering in her ears. The hilt of her blade creaked in her hand, her knuckles clenched white around it. This needed to end quickly before one of them did something they'd both regret.

"I will not live in a Noxus that sees fit to break its own ideals, nor one that employs madmen like Singed! This is not the country I loved; there is nothing in it of the Noxus I swore to serve! It's all a lie, one that you buy into so readily!" She was panting now, rage making her breaths come more quickly. "What about the lives of my company? Does Noxus value its own soldiers so little?"

"If they died, they were weak." Katarina's voice was as cold as her stare. "Weakness has no place in Noxus. If you have strength, you do as you wish. If you don't, then you're more meat for the grinder." There was no compassion in those words.

All thoughts of prudence and caution left her mind. Riven stared at the woman who'd once been her best friend as if she'd never seen her before. And maybe she hadn't, at least not through her new point of view. Just like that, all her hesitation left her.

"You're heartless, Katarina! Your Noxus doesn't care if its own people die! It's an abomination, and I'll have none of it!"

A knife thudded into the wall, barely missing her left eye.

"Don't you dare insult my country, Exile." Katarina's words were a rage-filled whisper as two more daggers flickered into her hands. "Another word, and I'll cut your throat"

In response, Riven spun her blade, ending the motion to point directly at the assassin's throat.

"Come try it, du Couteau. We'll see if you've got the strength."

For one long, heart-stopping moment the two Noxians glared at each other. Riven's pulse was a hammer against the side of her neck. She wanted to fight, to hit the Sinister Blade until she stopped moving, and then hit her some more. She would show the redhead true strength, the difference between them –

_If I kill her now, what's the difference? What am I proving, except that I'm just like her?_

The realization hit her like a blow from Jayce's hammer; if she wanted to change Noxus, to make it different, she had to change herself first. Noxus would need a model to follow, someone to show them how to act and comport themselves.

And part of that was to stop acting like a typical Noxian.

Riven stood from her fighting crouch; in response Katarina tensed. Instead of an attack, the Exile simply walked over to her couch and flopped onto it. The hatred drained from her body; now she only felt bone-tired and the desire for the assassin to leave.

"I'm not like you, Katarina. I don't solve my problems by killing them. Go away."

Instead of receiving the contemptuous snort she'd expected, or even flying into a fury, as League matches often showed, Katarina's eyes sharpened and her mouth curved in her trademark wicked grin.

"Oh, I don't think so, Riven. I think we're exactly the same, you and I. We've both waded through the heaped bodies of our enemies to bring blood for Noxus and enjoyed it. It's our calling, the highest we could hope for. We kill for Noxus, and die for Noxus. Nothing else matters except the blood we shed. You understood that before, and you'll learn to see it that way again.

I'll be seeing you."

With that, she was gone, a brief spiral of crimson and black marking her departure. She hadn't discarded Riven as trash, no, it was far worse. She was trying to reconvert her.

The answers to her questions were still far away, but at least she had one. She'd go to hell before she'd fall back into Katarina's arms. She could try to start finding the rest tomorrow.

The Exile slept.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 is up. Not much to say about this one; I didn't get a lot of feedback last time. If you've got the time, a review would be great! It lets me figure out what I'm doing wrong, and babble a little bit more in the intro section...Wait, that wasn't meant to be a deterrent! I'm just going to shut up now.

* * *

Riven woke from a dream of Noxus, feeling like she'd just been hit by one of Brand's fireballs.

Sweat ran in rivulets down her body; the sheets felt like they'd been glued together around her in some kind of linen cocoon. She pressed one hand to her forehead; it was burning. Did she have a fever? The Institute of War was strictly temperature-controlled; as a result ailments at the Institute were almost unheard of. Did she need to go to the infirmary?

That thought was squashed almost before she'd finished it. No - a fever was nothing to go whining to the healers about. No Noxian complained about a little heat. A good run should help her work it off. Her daily routine involved a run at about seven in the morning anyway; today she'd just start it three hours early. It wasn't a big deal.

Disentangling herself from the bed was harder than trying to escape from the coils of a Martellian viper, but somehow she managed, and got herself dressed without falling face-first into her closet. Her blade went into its customary sling on her back, sitting comfortably as she staggered out of the room.

Though it was morning, the sky was still dark, velvet blackness covering the institute in its shadow. Riven jogged out underneath the inky canvas, taking the longest route she could think of. Her path thus became a long, meandering route that threaded throughout the institute's numerous buildings and gardens. Her muscles burned, her body ached, and the sheer exhilaration of running was almost enough to make her forget the heat of her fever. Her jog became a run, boots pounding relentlessly against stone and dirt.

As part of its mission to prevent the denizens of Valoran from murdering each other brutally in a violent, cataclysmic war, the Institute had taken pains to keep the city-states separate by providing each of them a building to house their champions. This meant the Demacian, Ionian, and Piltoverian dorms were placed on the opposite side of the Institute from the Zaunite and Noxian quarters. Riven didn't remember where the Freljordian rooms were, but presumably they'd be separated as well.

The long pathway she'd followed from her own quarters cut through the Demacia-Piltover-Ionia block; she followed it past the Demacian building, flying its proud colors of blue and gold. Atop one of the balconies the thin shape of a bird alighted, coming to rest atop the arm of a distant figure, who vanished from view as Riven kept running.

Her temples throbbed.

Next was the Piltover block, squat and grey, boring in its mundane utility. In contrast to the Demacian building with its graceful spires and massive windows, the Piltoverian building looked like a hextech factory; all that was missing was the low hum of machinery and the eerie green light of technology at work.

The old wound across her back began to ache.

The Ionian quarters rose to her left, looking more like a giant temple than anything else. Sloping roofs, lacquered wood, and brightly-colored arches - the Ionian style of architecture was almost as familiar to her as that of Noxus. Seeing it brought back memories of Ionia itself, of the tasks she'd set for herself and the small deeds she had accomplished.

A pang of sadness hit her, sharp and poignant - recollections of Ionia were sweeter than her days in Noxus; every joy she'd experienced in her homeland was tarred by the heavy knowledge of the vile philosophy her countrymen espoused.

Pain, low and noxious. Her stomach cramped, her insides congealed together like cold slime. For one moment she was back in the Couer Valley, watching as Fury Company fell apart around her, feeling the pain of Singed's chemical barrage -

And then a hacking cough erupted from her chest, arresting her mid-run. Off-balance, she toppled headfirst into a nearby rosebush, rolling onto her side as the impact took her off her feet. The rake of thorns on her bare skin went unnoticed as she tried to hold in another fit, the muscles in her stomach tightening painfully as if to expel the remnants of last night's dinner.

Riven hadn't had a fit like this for a long time; she'd dared to hope that the only scars the valley had left her were psychological. Apparently that wasn't so. Her vision swirled before her, the red and brown of the buildings before her swirling with vivid shades of blue and yellow. Singed's toxin was still potent after all these years, it appeared. Like her past, it didn't seem to want to let her go.

A thought resurfaced in the middle of the pain. Simple, short. A message of perseverance.

_It didn't kill you then, and it won't kill you now. _

One hand went to the hilt protruding from her back. Riven pulled her blade free; it felt harder than scaling the Ironspike Mountains, but at last her sword plunged into the dirt beside her and she levered her weight upon it, forcing herself to a kneeling position.

Oh, how Katarina would sneer to see her now.

"I never thought to see a Noxian kneel. I thought your kind were too proud for that."

Bitterness gave the words an edge not unlike their speaker's blades. Riven lifted her head heavily, already knowing who she would see. Ionia's most famous warrior stood before her, arms crossed and looking like her face had been carved from stone, grim and solemn.

No, not quite all of her face. Contempt was visible in her eyes, blazing brighter than something that didn't actually glow should. She was wearing her customary armor, the red and silver plate muted in the moonbeams that shone down.

Riven forced out another cough. Droplets hit the dirt below her; she couldn't tell if they were saliva or blood. "I didn't...think you would be up, Captain Lito." It hurt to talk.

The darkness concealed any changes in Irelia's expression. "I do not sleep, Noxian. It is something your people have taken from me." She made no move to help Riven; the lack of assistance was not unexpected. "I heard your ruckus and assumed our grounds had been violated by a particularly clumsy infiltrator. Is that your purpose here, Exile?"

Riven summoned up the strength to laugh, a broken croak. "Who'd I be spying for?"

She was surprised when Irelia laughed too, a short mirthless chuckle. The Will of the Blades shifted her stance, feet moving to a more comfortable position. It was a short time before she spoke again.

"I've studied you, Exile. I know you left the Noxian army in the Couer Valley, after your mad dog reduced it to a toxic wasteland. Why? Angry because you didn't get to claim the glory? Or did the blood of too many innocents stick in your throat?"

Irritation blazed within Riven's stomach, joining the pain. Who was this Ionian to judge her, standing so high-and-mighty above her? She presumed Riven weak and helpless, but a Noxian was never helpless.

_Forever strong._

For the first time in a while, that mantra gave her strength, the strength to pull herself to her feet and look the enemy of her people in the eye. Darkness obscured the Ionian's face, but Riven thought she saw an eyebrow raise.

"Ionia has a reputation for fairness, captain." The nausea receded; Riven felt her voice become firmer, more sure. "And yet you're ruining it all by yourself."

Outrage rippled through the captain's body, her arms uncrossing immediately. "You dare-?"

Riven cut her off, letting her annoyance rise to the forefront of her words. "You judge me for fighting as a soldier in a lawful war between our countries, and yet the bodies you left on the Placidium outnumber those of your people I slew."

Even in the dark, she could see green eyes flash hatred. "You invaded us-"

"Something I didn't order, and wouldn't repeat." Riven snapped, cutting off the Ionian again. Even as she spoke the words, she knew them to be true. There were other, better ways to prove strength than callously slaughtering the unprepared villagers of a peaceful island. "But do you really think you're better than we are, with your mindless hatred? How many families have you broken? How many widows did you make on that bridge? How many orphans?"

"Do _not_ compare us to you!" Irelia shouted. Something glinted beside her - the blades of her father, no doubt. "YOU started this war! YOU killed villages full of innocents! YOU dragged us down to your level! How dare you insinuate that we are anything like you Noxian murderers?!"

And at that, Riven let herself laugh again, a long low belly laugh that brought twinges of pain, but was incredibly satisfying nonetheless.

"I never said anything about the rest of Ionia, captain. Just you."

Irelia recoiled, and the blades thrust outwards, pointing menacingly at her.

Riven continued, leaning heavily on the hilt of her blade. "You're going to stand there and call me a monster when you hate like that? At least in Noxus, we don't lie to ourselves about who we are."

She took a step forward. Immediately, two of the floating blades were at her throat.

"Are you that afraid of what I've got to say?" The Exile let a smirk cross her face, inwardly hating herself for this. She deserved every bit of scorn Irelia poured upon her, but she was too tired and too sick to put up with this contempt anymore.

"General Swain would have salivated to have you in his army."

And she did. Rage, dedication, an iron will: all these things she saw in the captain of the guard. In another time, another place, Irelia Lito would have been Swain's greatest asset

She didn't see the blow coming. Irelia's fist snapped her head back; if not for the hand on her blade, Riven would have fallen. As it was she wobbled, swaying uneasily on her feet.

"You know nothing about me, Exile." Irelia hissed, but was that a hint of uncertainty Riven saw in her eyes?

"I know enough," Riven replied, feeling the strength leech away from her limbs. She sagged. "Not everything is black and white."

"You're trying to justify your actions to me, murderer?" Irelia's words were quiet, but she was shaking. "You're the last to talk about right and wrong, Exile."

Riven shook her head. Ireila's face blurred in her vision; she felt so very, very tired. "I can't justify anything, Irelia. I've made too many mistakes to lecture someone else. I'm trying to stop you from making them, too."

At that, the Will of the Blades snorted. "As if you have anything meaningful to tell me, traitor."

"In Noxus, we judge people by their actions; I'd prefer that you do the same instead of hurling insults from the past."

"Do you mock me, Exile?" Irelia snarled. "Judging you by your actions would leave my attitude unchanged."

Riven couldn't suppress a groan of frustration.

"Would you just listen?! I just said that I've made mistakes, and I'm trying to make up for them. You can hate me all you want, I probably deserve it, but I do ask for time to prove I'm not just another pawn on Swain's chessboard! I'm asking for a second chance!"

Both women locked eyes, and more than ever Riven willed herself not to show any weakness. The Ionian would pounce on any, seize any reason to doubt her conviction. She couldn't falter. The Exile put every bit of sincerity she could muster into her gaze.

The blades at her throat hovered, indecisively, perhaps? Then they withdrew. Riven met Irelia's gaze, willing her to understand. Was that hesitation, confusion in her eyes?

The Will of the Blades let out a growl of low anger and stalked off.

Riven waited until the crimson armor was no longer visible, then allowed her limbs to buckle. Her body thumped down into the soft dirt, utterly drained. The coughing returned, searing her throat raw and spattering the ground with more fluid.

Unconsciousness took her quickly; there was no quiet slip into the darkness.

As her eyes slipped shut and the world shrank away, the faintest of moonbeams moved to light her face.

There was light that shouldn't be there. One eye crooked open; the light became brighter. Riven grunted and closed it again.

"Good morning, Riven."

Soraka's precise, oddly-accented words rang through her ears. She was in the infirmary. Well, it could have been worse.

The Exile sat up, one hand reaching instinctively for her blade. It wasn't there, but she spotted it in its harness, hanging off a nearby chair.

"How are you feeling?"

The Starchild stood before her, purple skin accentuated by the harsh lights of the hospital. Patterns of light played across the horn of bone that jutted from her forehead. Gold eyes regarded Riven with an unnerving serenity, and compassion. It made her uncomfortable.

"I'm fine." She swung her legs off the cot, and nearly fell off. Soraka was there in a heartbeat, supporting her and guiding her back to the bed.

"You had quite an episode." Soraka said quietly. "I recognize Singed's poisons; I was able to remove the more potent remnants; the rest should fade away in time."

Riven supposed she should feel grateful, but she didn't. It must have shone in her face, because Soraka frowned. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, of course not." Riven lied. Now was no time to discuss 'feelings' with an Ionian. She looked around for a way to change the subject. "How did I get here?"

"Diana brought you here."

Riven frowned. The name wasn't familiar to her. Seeing her confusion, the Starchild elaborated.

"She is new to the league; her arrival was announced only yesterday. She found you and brought you here. It was good that she did; your body was just about to succumb to the toxins."

The Exile felt a frown crease her lips. She hadn't had an attack for quite some time; it was troubling to think about how weak she'd been. If not for this mysterious rescuer, she might have coughed her last breath in that garden as the only person who knew she was there stormed away.

Riven still didn't know how to feel about that encounter. Irelia had essentially condemned her to death, and yet it wasn't as if Riven could blame her. Still, there had been the faintest shred of doubt in her eyes before she'd turned her back.

"You shouldn't be so hard on her." Soraka's golden eyes were understanding. Perhaps the rumors were true, and she could read minds. "Irelia has been through much."

Riven snorted faintly. "_Me_, hard on her? I wasn't the one who left her to die."

Well, maybe she could blame her a little.

A smile touched the Starchild's lips. "Actually, you might be surprised. She came to me not soon after you were brought in, screaming that she had made a terrible mistake and that you were about to die. Imagine her shock when she found you lying on the operating table."

The Exile digested this information. "...She went back for me?"

Soraka nodded. "Yes, and her distress when you were no longer there was quite palpable. She made quite a scene, barreling through the infirmary doors and demanding that a search be launched. Your rescuer had a few words with her, chastising her for her thoughtless behavior." The healer crossed her arms. "Irelia took it very hard; no doubt she's been punishing herself."

"I can't say I expected that." Riven admitted, feeling the words come jumbling out. "I know what I've done to her people, and I can't say that I wouldn't have done the same."

Well, actually she probably would have lopped Irelia's head off and been done with it, but that was her Noxian upbringing talking. She'd changed.

And now she was talking about her feelings with an Ionian. Splendid.

"You should give her a chance, Riven." The Starchild was one of the few who never called her 'Exile'. "Irelia is stubborn and impetuous, quick to anger and slow to forgive, but she knows when she is wrong. Give her time, and she will give you the second chance you seek."

One white eyebrow rose. "She told you that too?"

The answering smile Soraka offered was enigmatic. "Not in so many words." The Starchild's voice turned business-like. "At any rate, you are free to go. I would advise against any strenuous physical activity and to drink lots of water; it will help to purge your system of the remaining toxins."

She gestured with one pale purple hand. Riven took the hint and slid off the bench. Her legs groaned in protest and the rest of her body echoed the sentiment, but she stayed upright. At least she was alive.

Which brought to mind another matter: this mysterious rescuer of hers. That was a debt that needed to be paid. Riven winced internally; no doubt Kat would have a field day with her weakness.

"Thank you, Soraka." She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Do you know where to find Diana? I'd like to thank her."

Soraka offered a wry smile. "I do not, actually. Her quarters are actually near yours, but I am told she rarely spends time within them. You would do well to ask the Radiant Dawn; perhaps she has a better idea than I."

The Exile nodded slowly and stepped away from the table, feeling as if her legs were wet noodles. Her blade hung in its sling on a nearby chair; she slipped it over her shoulder and left, acutely aware of Soraka's eyes on her.


End file.
